It’s not often that I am the deliverer of breaking news. I prefer to leave the “Johnny-on-the-scene” shtick to the younger lot, whose wisdom is trumped by naïveté. Mind you, I don’t mean to downplay their efforts. After all, it is upon their broken, labored backs that my salary is generated. For that, the martini of my indifference is garnished with a modest olive of unspoken appreciation. (Those of you who would assert that vermouth would have made for a stronger metaphor have no business partaking of any beverage not distilled in a bathtub.)